


Perigee

by Lyrstzha



Category: Firefly
Genre: Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Flash Fic, M/M, Pack Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-25
Updated: 2016-01-25
Packaged: 2018-05-16 05:30:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5816044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lyrstzha/pseuds/Lyrstzha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You're in my pack,” Mal finally says, because it's true and because it's all that really matters. “Why're we still talkin' 'bout this?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Perigee

**Author's Note:**

  * For [panisdead](https://archiveofourown.org/users/panisdead/gifts).



_For the strength of the Pack is the Wolf, and the strength of the Wolf is the Pack. ~ Rudyard Kipling_

 

It's the wolf brigades that really make Serenity Valley so hard to take. Alliance troops have almost no wolves among them – wolfblood families being mostly averse to dense cities and too many rules – and they truly underestimate how much of a difference it can make. After the Browncoats surrender, the Purplebellies seem to get a kick out of collaring the wolves and calling them bitches. Mal would take his chance with ripping out as many throats as possible before they brought him down, except that Zoe takes it all blandly at his side, and he cannot let her down. When they're finally turned loose, the first thing Mal does is rip off his collar and burn it. 

“Ain't you just itchin'a get that off?” Mal frowns at the collar still around Zoe's neck.

She shrugs nonchalantly. “Got me a mind to keep it a spell, actually.”

“What?” Mal demands incredulously. “What'd you go an' do a thing like that for?”

Zoe raises a hand to trace her fingertips slowly over the leather at her throat. “Reminds me, is all. Reminds me those Purplebellies were so 'fraid'a us that they needed'a make fun. Like babes whistlin' in the dark, tryin'a pretend they ain't quakin' in their tiny boots.”

Mal tilts his head and regards her thoughtfully. “Ain't thought of it like that,” he finally says.

Her eyes shine back at him for a moment, glowing amber. “Well,” she says wryly. “Ain't like I ever needed to accuse you'a over-thinkin' things, Sir.”

“Get along with you,” Mal scolds with a soft cuff to her shoulder. But there's no heat to it, because he'd more than half given up hearing any lightness in his beta's voice again. Maybe she's just teasing him to comfort him, but it still works. It's enough to get him thinking on a future again.

*******

“Best of all,” the ridiculously mustached new pilot is boasting, “I know how to navigate around moontides. I can get us anyplace in the 'verse without running afoul of a single one.”

Mal lifts an eyebrow, reluctantly impressed despite himself. “Huh. Ain't never heard'a anyone could dosey-doe 'round every moon spinnin' without crossin' a full even once.”

Wash looks downright smug. “The trick's to time it right. Long as we skirt the orbit so the sun and planet don't line up just right with any of the nearby moons, we're golden. It gets a little trickier when we actually _land_ on a moon, but still.”

“An' _you_ know how to manage this when everyone else don't because...?”

“Because _I_ am a bona fide genius pilot. I may even have a card as says so.” Wash finishes with a grin.

So even though there's still something about the odd little man that Zoe doesn't like, the draw of a pilot who can keep the wolf from taking either of them against their will is too much to pass up.

******

And Wash is as good as his word. They navigate neatly around moontides so smoothly that Mal and Zoe and eventually Jayne never even flash claws without meaning to. It's seriously impressive, and Mal never asks, but he figures maybe that's why Zoe eventually goes from “he just smells wrong” to leaving the two ragged crescents of a mating bite on Wash's neck. At least part of the reason, anyway. Mal doesn't really want to know about any of the rest, even if he has to wear earplugs of an evening and practice selective blindness to avoid it.

It all goes pretty smooth until Jiangyin. Because of course the stupid backbeyond settlement in the hills is right in the path of a full moontide, and of course Mal can't wait until it's passed to go after his people.

“But she's _our_ witch, so cut her the hell _down_ ,” Mal snarls around his curved fangs, and it's probably not even the guns that make the ignorant hicks give in so easy. 

“You're _wolves_?” Simon whispers, wide-eyed, as he climbs aboard with his sister. But Mal figures that must seem like a lesser evil than torch-wielding hillbillies, because they _do_ come aboard. “How did I not know this?” Simon demands of no one in particular.

“'Spect you been too distracted. Got enough on your mind,” Mal grits out, pretending his hackles don't rise higher at Simon's tone. It's nothing more than he should expect from Core-bred folk, after all.

“It's just because he wasn't worried about what big _teeth_ you have,” River pipes up with a roll of her eyes, looking up at Mal from under her hair. “And because I didn't tell him.”

******

Afterward, when the sparking hum of moontide is finally fading, leaving Mal feeling drained and wrung-out, Simon comes along for a chat. It's much better timing than he usually has, that's for sure. Wolves may be a bit emotional and moody after a full moon, but they haven't got much inclination to do anything about it. To be honest, Mal would rather curl up in his bunk with a hot water bottle on his back than trade barbs with anybody, even if the memory of Simon's voice sliding all shocked around the word “wolves” still stings.

“You're in my pack,” Mal finally says, because it's true and because it's all that really matters. “Why're we still talkin' 'bout this?” And he turns to go after that hot water bottle and some peace and quiet.

But Simon is Simon, and apparently that means he can't leave Mal's peace and quiet well enough alone. “Captain,” he calls softly after Mal's turned away. He waits until Mal pauses and looks back at him. “I didn't mean to imply...I mean, earlier, when you first...,” And he makes a vague sort of gesture at Mal that could mean pretty much anything.

Mal raises an eyebrow at him, almost too tired for amusement but not quite. “Got a few solid verbs in there, but I think you could use a mite more narrative thrust, Doc.” And he absolutely pretends that he doesn't hear the trip of Simon's heartbeat at the word 'thrust.' Which he of course did not work into a sentence just to hear.

“I just meant to say that I was only startled, that's all,” Simon returns a bit primly, flushing slightly. “I didn't mean to offend. I've got nothing against wolves.”

Mal snorts. “Conjure some of your best friends're wolves, even.” He doesn't mean to sound a little bitter, but there it is.

Simon flushes harder, and his jaw clenches briefly. He's quiet for a moment, long enough that Mal starts to turn away again. “They are _now_ ,” Simon finally says quietly, freezing Mal right in his tracks.

Mal looks back to find himself fixed in Simon's intense gaze. They stare at each other for a long breath, then Simon lifts his chin slowly. He turns it a bit to the left and closes his eyes, pale throat bared to Mal.

Mal licks his lips and takes a deep, steadying breath. “Ain't a wolf,” he manages hoarsely. “Don't rightly know what that means.”

Simon flickers a glance from the side of his eye without moving his chin. “Perhaps better than you think I do,” he murmurs. “You're my alpha. Why are we still talking about this?”

And then Mal has to cross back to him with an urgent step, has to smooth his palm over that bared expanse of throat until the tips of his claws wink out to whisper along the skin gently. Simon stands as still as a statue, hardly breathing and not flinching even a little as long claws stroke across his soft neck. He doesn't smell of fear; he smells of anticipation and belonging, warm and a little spicy. He sighs, and the rumble of it tickles along Mal's palm.

“Might be you do know after all,” Mal breathes, not quite able to pull his hand away yet. And it might be that he's not quite so tired as he thought anymore. Then Simon leans into his touch, pulse beating faster beneath Mal's fingers, and Mal thinks that maybe he's not even slightly tired at all.


End file.
